Housekeeper
by Taterborn
Summary: Fenris seems to have no idea that a free man maintains his own household, so Hawke swoops in to help him clean up and arrange Danarius' former mansion into something liveable.


Hawke had left a day clear of work and gathered the tools and rags she and Carver had used to fix and clean Gamlen's hovel up when they first moved in. Dear brother gave her a knowing shake of his head when she said where she was going, but didn't bother trying to stop her.

"You and your elves," he said, like had hadn't just been with Faith, the prettiest elf in the whole Blooming Rose, the night before. It ran in the family, it seemed.

"Believe it or not, Brother, but that's not it. Besides, he hates mages. I can't imagine him wanting to bed one."

"Sister, _gross_." He barely managed to swallow his food. She chortled. "Just don't give him a reason to think you're like his master. You know how you are sometimes."

"I'm the picture of kindness and patience, Carver, you know that," she answered with a crooked grin.

"No, that was Bethany." He picked at his breakfast for a moment. They both knew that would hang over the rest of the week.

"Yes. It was," she said at last, fumbling to attach the dog's leash. The mabari didn't need it, but it terrified Hightown residents if it wasn't there. "I'll be home for dinner. Make sure mother eats. She forgets sometimes."

Hawke swept out of the hovel, tools and dog in tow. That argument never went anywhere.

The sun was shining, a very uncommon sight in Kirkwall. Fine ladies dressed in summery clothing, made to cool and reveal. Birds twittered. Flowers bloomed. But Fenris would never know, given that he'd shut the windows and hadn't been seen for days. Their invitations for him to come to the Hanged Man had gone unanswered. Hawke was damn near certain he hadn't done a thing to the place. That he'd just left it the way he found it. He'd use everything in there to feed his anger. He seemed the type. He reminded her a little of Carver that way, though in a less petty, childish way.

She knocked loudly and it was followed by the dog's barking. Minutes passed. She banged on the door more insistently. Finally, she glanced around to check for prying eyes. Seeing none, she channeled a bit of her magic and shoved on the doorknob so hard as to break it.

"Fenris!" she called, closing the door behind her as best she could.

When the leash came off the dog, he ran up the stairs happily. Hawke followed, unconcerned. Fenris could take care of himself, no windows were broken, and nothing seemed more wrecked than when she'd left it. The only danger he might have been in was drowning in broken furniture.

The dog disappeared through a door, and seconds later, a shout came: "Hawke!"

"Good morning!" she called.

The dog was lavishing his sloppy wet kisses on Fenris, pinning the elf to the chair with his paws.

"Get him off," he said, disturbed.

"Oh, that would be a shame! He loves you! I think I might leave him here. To keep you company." But she gave a short whistle anyway, and the mabari sprung away and trotted to her. He sat obediently and tilted his head, awaiting orders.

Fenris wiped his face. "That was not the same beast who fought Danarius' spirits. Don't you knock?"

Hawke settled to her knees and set aside the tools to pet the dog. He immediately turned on his back, revealing his stomach for scratching. "Sure he is. He's just got multiple sides to him. And I did knock. You didn't hear."

Fenris' stare was skeptical, but she was almost certain there was a small smile. His face was too new for her to recognize the nuances of frowns and smiles. Aveline was a plain sort and only had a handful of each. Carver had at least ten different types of frowns, ranging between Petulant Younger Brother and Maker, I'm Hungry. Fenris, so far, had two that she was very familiar with: Show Yourself, Danarius! and Maker, Not More Mages. This was a new face.

"And you are making an allegory of the dog for mages?" he asked, not quite leaning back in his seat. It was possible he didn't actually know how to relax. "There are many ways that analogy could go wrong."

She shrugged. "I can't blame you for caution. I've never heard of mages with slaves in my life. The idea is laughable. But I suppose it's possible." The dog settled his head in her lap. "But I've spoken for both sides with different people. That's not what I came here for, and I would rather get that out of the way now."

He considered her. It was dark in the room, but his eyes still reflected light from the doorway.

"You didn't bring your staff."

"Kind of you to notice. I did bring a hammer, though," she said, and pulled it out of the toolbox. She held it casually. "If you pull that sword on me, this is what I'll pull on your skull. I don't need magic to teach you a lesson." She was only half joking.

This time, the corner of his mouth did tilt up and he held up his hands in mock defeat. "Very well. You're in no danger from me today. Unless you turn into an abomination."

"I shall endeavor not to summon demons into your teaspoons, ser."

"Dare I ask what you _are_ here for, however?"

Hawke gently nudged the dog off of her lap and walked over to the windows and pulled back the curtains. "You can't sit in the same seat until Danarius gets off his cushioned magister arse. That's still living based on his wants and needs."

Fenris squirmed in the light. Clearly, he hadn't been outside at all lately. "This is true," he admitted. "I am just… unsure. I have been on the run for a long time. Staying in one place - I have not given it much thought."

"Does that mean you intend to stay in Kirkwall?" she asked.

In the light, sitting, he seemed paler. Thinner. Smaller without his sword. He hunched a little, though perhaps not intentionally. She remembered some of the elves in Lothering. It wasn't a full Alienage like in Denerim, but they had grouped together for safety and community. Whenever they ventured out of that community, they looked much the same as Fenris did now. So had Bethany whenever she saw a Templar. One day, if he got used to people and jokes and fun, and if Mother improved, she would have to bring him over for a good, solid stew. He looked like he needed it.

"It's…as good a place as any," he said, eyes finally adjusting to the light. "If I must, I can fight him here, away from his, ah, fortress."

That hadn't been what she was asking… but she had to remind herself it would be a while before he would _feel_ free. "Then we should make this place liveable. Clean it, throw out the broken things. You'll need my help clearing any of his leftovers." She also wanted to get her hands on any remaining supplies Danarius might have had - but perhaps that would not be wise to say yet. Or ever. Or maybe that's how mistrust was sowed.

"You want to… fix this place?" He seemed surprised at the notion.

"Why not? You're going to be squatting here, you may as well squat in luxury." She folded her arms.

"And you're going to help me?"

"I'm probably going to be doing most of the work." She gave him a sideways smile. She knew he wouldn't believe her.

"I don't remember there being spells for housekeeping, but I… have been seeing rats. Perhaps it would be fitting to turn one of his places of security against him."

She snorted. "I'll assume that's you giving me your blessing. And maybe we can pawn off some of his junk for you so you have something until you can get solid work."

His face said he hadn't really considered any of that. She waved it off; they would discuss that another time.

The manse was not, by any means, as large as some of the other homes in Hightown, but it was still very big. Most rooms seemed to be some kind of storage. They'd wrecked most of it in the fighting, but it was clear Danarius wasn't here very often anyway. Most of what they carried outside was broken chests and cabinets, though there were some rooms that were absolutely opulent; the pillows were silk. Fenris let her take one, but only because the dog grabbed it and stared pleadingly at him.

They worked mostly in silence, though she knew he hadn't expected her to be able to lift things on her own. Not all mages were delicate flowers; some were scrappy weeds, and others were trees.

The next part was trickier; Fenris wanted to get rid of all the bottles and ingredients, period. If he had his way, the might have set fire to the small lab on the second floor.

"We can't just dump it," she argued, "We don't know what it might do. We don't know what's in these. One of these might have… a… spirit caged, for all I know."

"All the more reason to destroy it."

"It's not that simple! There's a process to make sure there's no residues, and I have no idea what's in here. Some of it might be poison." Isabela would want that. "I have to look at these later." She would have preferred to have Anders' expertise on the matter - her father's, in a perfect world - but if Fenris insisted on looming over her shoulder, that would mean listening to them bicker, and she would have none of it.

His jaw tightened, and he rubbed his chin more in frustration than thought. He was trying not to insult her by accident. She appreciated the effort, but she'd rather he just said what he was thinking.

"I'm not Danarius," she reminded him.

"I know that. But I don't -"

"Nor am I keen on potions and mixtures. If I'm going to use magic, it's probably to knock down a door. Bethany was better at healing and potions and reading."

He frowned. "Bethany?"

"My… sister. She died during the Blight." He opened his mouth, but she waved him to silence. "Yes, we're all sorry. Her poor spirit never gets rest at home. Carver and Mother wield her like a spear, except it's guilt and not metal. The point is, I don't have the patience for all this underhanded Tevinter magister nonsense. If I were to kill you or anyone in this city, I promise it will be a very straightforward fireball."

He inhaled and held the breath, looking at her. She smiled and tilted her head, giving him her best slimy-salesman smile.

"You'll see it coming," she promised when he didn't say no, but didn't relent. "It's very bright."

He let out the breath. "Very well. I will… trust your knowledge on this matter. But I would like to know what he has kept here."

"I'll make a list." She pressed the crate of dried spindleweed and elfroot into his hands to take downstairs.

She had half-expected to find a jar of lyrium she could nab, to bribe an addicted templar or two in the future, but it was not her luck. She heard nothing and felt nothing stirring, aside from the usual weakness in Kirkwall's Veil.

Once the bottles and containers had been stored in crates and chests and the finery, strange paintings, and trinkets divided for selling and pawning, she passed out a treat from her toolbox: carefully wrapped bread, cheese, and dry-cured meats. They sat by the stairs in silence. She wasn't particularly hungry, spending most of their break leaning against the dog, staring at Fenris thoughtfully.

He carefully but quickly inhaled his food; the habit of people whose meals were not reliable. That had been her family the first few weeks in Kirkwall, and then the first week between leaving Athenril's service and meeting Varric. This was him his whole life.

The elf gave her a weary look. "Do you always stare at people like that?"

"Yes," she said bluntly. "I don't often get to see elves up close. They think it's rude if I stare."

"It is."

"It is," she agreed, "but I still want to do it. You can learn a lot about people when you observe them. And when I first met you, you were punching a hole in a man's heart, so sitting and eating cheese like a mouse is unexpected."

He glanced at her quickly to make sure she was joking and smiled briefly. "Why are you… helping me fix this place?"

"You've never had friends, have you? Or a decent neighbor?" she asked. It wasn't a mocking question; it was a genuine inquiry.

"I was a slave," he said, considering that a sufficient explanation. "That is not to say that I don't appreciate it…"

"But it's new to you. I understand." She sat up and let her foot dangle between the balustrade. "Where I did most of my growing up, I wasn't allowed to talk much to other people, for obvious reasons. But Fereldans are helpful people. It's a little different, I've heard, after the Blight, but I remember it being okay to help a neighbor with a leaking roof or to help set traps if wolves were about, running off with chickens." She plopped another piece of cheese into her mouth. "Everyone in Kirkwall thinks you owe them something. Like they're entitled to money for being a good person." She rolled her eyes.

He nodded slowly. "Nothing in Tevinter was done without a secondary purpose. Not among magisters. Your help - thank you."

"Oh, I'm not done yet. And I'm not doing this for free." She raised her hand to forestall his questions. "I went downstairs earlier - to the cellar. We'll have to clear it of some of Danarius' magical gunk, but there's a lot of wine down there. And it's all a rare vintage I only saw once in Ferelden. I demand we open a bottle and celebrate later."

For the first time, a true smile peeled across his face. "That, I think, is a sound idea."

"A wine drinker!" she exclaimed, grinning. "Very uncommon around here. My brother drinks Varric's dwarven swill, and I do not _want_ to know what Isabela drinks."

He didn't respond, but his smile remained a little longer. When they were finished, she wrapped up what was uneaten and settled downstairs. She had him bring down every piece of furniture, with the exception of any of the beds.

Toolbox open, hammer in hand, and a few nails stored between her teeth, she ensured the tables and chairs were sturdy, that the cabinets opened properly, that door hinges worked, and replaced a few of the floorboards from any broken furniture. She opened curtains and cleared dust - and some of the bloodstains they'd left behind. Those were a little tougher, but it turned out some of the ingredients Danarius had stored were good for just that purpose.

Fenris watched her work, more out of curiosity than anything. She called him over and had him hammer in a few of the nails. She explained how to spot weakness in wood, especially in a place like Kirkwall, where there were constant rains and humidity. He had a steady hand and clearly already had experience with this, but when she asked, he claimed he hadn't done this for Danarius. Had he not been forced to be effectively a watchdog and political statement, he might have made a good carpenter.

She washed and scrubbed rugs. They both washed floors and windows. Danarius had used glowstones instead of oil lamps, like a proper mage (Hawke thought) and they were polished. She wanted to check the roof for leaks, but it was already dark. Instead, she cleared out the fireplace of old wood (and a dead rat) and used the last bits of wood that had been stored. Some of her will and a bit of a spark lit it. She fixed the doorknob she'd broken.

The kitchen was relatively untouched, but Hawke dumped spoiled foods, leaving mostly preserves and pickled foods. She took note of a jar of olives she knew were grown farther north. They would go well with the wine, she decided. One of the shelves had developed its own ecosystem, so she set that on fire, for safety's sake.

A few of Danarius' summoned spirits remained, floating listlessly, having forgotten their purpose. Those that didn't attack, Hawke released back into the Fade. Those that did, Fenris cut down.

Finally, they descended to the cellar with a bunch of glowstones and cleared away what they could. Some glyphs and residues remained caked to the floor and walls, so Hawke burned them away. One of the glyphs burned back, but true to her word, a good hit with her hammer cracked it in two and broke its spell.

Fenris brought up the bottle. Hawke carried up the jar of olives and two glasses. She gratefully pulled off her boots and they slumped on the large sitting pillows at the very low table - some cultural quirk of Tevinters, Fenris told her.

She didn't even need the wine to put her to sleep, but they poured it. She held up her glass. After a moment's hesitation, Fenris' clinked against hers and they sipped in silence, picking at the olives. They both stank of dust and dirt and cleaning and sweat, but the whole place was clean. Remarkably so.

"This is not what they teach mages in Tevinter," he admitted after a while.

Hawke snorted. "I suppose not. I grew up on a farm. We fixed everything ourselves. It wasn't easy at first. Neither Mother nor Father knew the first thing about farms. But I grew up on it. Bethany took after mother in a lot of ways - she was better with being lady-like. She sewed our clothes. I can't sew two patches together if my life depended on it. Carver and I did the heavy lifting. We helped with the crops, with the cow and the chickens. And we fixed things. We built things. We beat each other with sticks. We hunted if it was necessary." She yawned. "Killed a bear once. Well, sort of. I got the pelt, at least."

Fenris frowned. That was his skeptical frown. "A… bear. You killed a bear."

"It had just caved in a wolf's head, but it was hurt. I, um, was trying to learn to use a bow and arrow, but I missed and it noticed me. I pissed myself, I was so scared." She laughed at the memory. "I never did learn to use the bow and arrow."

He shook his head. "So how did you kill it?"

"You won't like it. It involves magic." She raised her eyebrows.

"You couldn't have gotten the pelt if you set it on fire," he said, accepting her challenge.

Her smile broadened. "I grabbed a stick from a tree, coated it in ice - like an icicle, a very sharp one - and stuck it through the bear's head. Not before it nearly clawed my arm off, but I killed it. I came home covered in blood, but damn, I had a nice coat that year."

He was trying to picture it. His brows curled together, and he wanted to smile, but he wasn't sure how serious she was being. She smiled, pulled her feet closer, and sipped her glass of wine. She had been right. This was a good wine.

"So where did you learn to nail like that?" Isabela would have a comment or two.

Fenris' expression turned thoughtful and he examined the fireplace extensively. "Not _all_ of my time was spent running. I did spend… time with a small community. I mostly trained, but I learned some things. Pitching tents, some woodwork."

"And you don't want to talk about it," she guessed.

He met her eyes. His were the color of bright leaves, like the tree outside Lothering in the summer. "No."

She shrugged. "Up to you," she said with another yawn. The dog had settled beside them, his head on his chosen silk pillow. He was fast asleep.

He hadn't exactly invited her to stay over, but it was very late, she had just helped him clean his whole brand new stolen home, and she was very tired. And the dog was asleep. Waking the dog would just be mean. She wanted to crack a joke about not killing her while she slept, but she found herself in her nightly visit to the Fade already.

Fenris learned that Hawke snored quietly while she slept.


End file.
